“Every ME is equal to every other ME! So there are no chiefs, just as there are no Indians. It doesn’t matter how many there are, one ME or hundreds of MEs.
“Fine. But Hitoshi, wouldn’t you feel reassured with an expanded network of US?”
“You mean, somewhere down the line, an independent community? A ME clan?” Hitoshi responded with sarcasm.
“Well, if not that, what do you want then?” I snorted.
“What’s wrong with the way things are now, with just the three of us?”
Hearing it put that way, neither Nao nor I could say anything in rebuttal.
“Yes, I see your point,” Nao finally conceded.
“I’m content with our life as it is. I couldn’t ask for more.”
“I feel the same way,” I agreed.
“As it is, no one unnecessarily butts in. There are other MEs who have their own elegant arrangements, their own magnificent trios.”
“But if there were a proliferation of reasonable, understanding MEs, we’d have an easier time of things. We’d simply have a lot of fun, as we wouldn’t have to be on pins and needles or go to a lot of trouble to accommodate them.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be fantastic if we had one hundred of US to drink beer together? I was just imagining the scene—if we don’t make them our comrades, we’ll never be able to experience that.”
“What you’re talking about is really a festival, isn’t it? Not day-to-day life. How would a hundred MEs live together when it’s not party time?”
“Hey, every day could be a holiday!”
I laughed at Nao’s joke as Hitoshi turned away, a sour expression crossing his face. Hitoshi was hiding something from us, thereby preventing us from sharing in his state of depression. I could not allow that. Why was he holding back his feelings from us, his fellow MEs? I was already dissatisfied that our emotions and desires were not perfectly in accord. We were supposed to be comrades, in sync with each other twenty-four hours a day. The three of us could remain together alone, if that’s what Hitoshi wished. I wanted to bask in the sensation of being a part of a truly larger self, always with the full, shared range of our human feelings and thoughts. As long as that condition held, WE would endure, always for the sake of one another.
And yet I did not attempt to pin him down. He was, after all, a ME. What happened to him also happened to me. Of that I was confident.
As we made our way down the mountain, we did not encounter a single ME, to say nothing of the reputed trio. We found ourselves returning to the idea of Our Mountain, and agreed that is was realistic after all.
“I take it we’ll be living at my place,” said Nao. Then he added, “It seems to me the least we can do is have Mizonokuchi join us.”
That, I thought, would be fine with me, and Hitoshi cheerfully agreed: “Bring him along the next time we have a holiday.”
We got off the train at Shin-Ōkubo and ate Korean-style grilled meat. Our earlier card game had petered out inconclusively, so we wound up going dutch. I had intended to go back to Hiyoshi, but now I was quite reluctant to part, and so I returned to Our Mountain in Ōkubo.
* * *
When I woke up there on Sunday, I found that I had become fully ergophobic. There had been many previous mornings when I felt tired and wanted to sleep in, but this was the first time I had grown sick and tired of the job itself. And to add to it all, Hitoshi and Nao both had the day off, as normal people do, and were still slumbering. I seriously considered calling in with a fake cold but then lost my nerve, as I contemplated the precariousness of my situation and the possibility of such a move being career suicide.
The unfamiliar commute and the largely empty train on an early morning during Golden Week gave me an eerie feeling. But I knew there was no turning back. Megaton, up until then my turf, my bailiwick, had suddenly become a cold and distant place. Besides, Our Mountain had become incomparably cozier, so that I felt an ever-stronger desire to simply withdraw into its confines.
I slouched in my seat and fell into a reverie. In it, I was working for the Our Mountain branch of Megaton. All of my coworkers were MEs, as were the customers. All the thousands living there—no, the tens of thousands—were MEs too. With those colleagues I enjoyed perfect mutual understanding, our teamwork resembling a beautifully performed symphony, as, knowing all our customers’ hopes and expectations, we sold them the ideal cameras at just the right price—clerks and clients basking in happiness.
Upon arrival I changed into my work clothes—still grasping onto that modest utopian vision—checked the business memos, looked over the figures for the previous day, and went into the sales area to examine the inventory on display. The morning meeting soon began. Only half-listening to the assistant manager’s spiel, I mechanically mouthed the slogans and salutations we repeated in unison. Incorrigible, I imagined customers milling about the sales floor and fantasized that they were all MEs of Our Mountain.
We then broke up into our separate retail departments, each to hold its own meeting. For watches and cameras, there were four of us. I was still daydreaming when I turned back toward the gathering and found my eyes caught by a powerful gaze. It was that of a ME. And that ME was Tajima.
Squirming, I tried to look away but could not. Tajima’s gaze remained fixed. His short hair was brushed to one side, his tanned face expressionless except for the sharp glint in his eyes. He was an ostentatiously athletic type. Though no one would think, judging from our outward appearance and aura, that we were similar, he looked as I would if I were to wear a clumsy disguise. I suspected that Hitoshi and Nao would have thought the same.
It was utterly absurd. Why Tajima of all people? The very idea that the dude should be me was unbearable. I would never accept it! I wanted to scream in protest.
Poker-faced Tajima, our section chief, ran the meeting as he always did. Was he simply unaware?
“Today’s the same as yesterday. We’re emphasizing Ricoh. We’ve already caught the boom, which is now peaking during Golden Week. Give it a push particularly when you’ve got customers who can’t decide on the model or are a bit hung up on picture quality. Of course, you can also make a pitch for Panasonic or Canon. Especially for those who run to us just before going on vacation, it’s important to move quickly to accommodate them. Uh, well, since as you are all aware, an anti-Yasoist policy is in effect, if there is an issue that you feel you can’t possibly resolve on your own, do seek out advice. Acting as though you can do everything on your own will only slow operations and eventually foul up the entire retail process . . . So, is there anything else?”
The tone of his voice was basically the same as mine, though by comparison it felt well-oiled, unhesitating, and reverberated clearly, so that there was little impression of similarity. I wanted to plug my ears and close my eyes but could do neither, as I continued to look at Tajima.
“Hiyama. You seem to want to say something.”
I was suddenly shaken out of my stupor. “Uh, well, the CX1 is breaking out of its holding pattern, so we might want to have more in stock.”
“That’s just what I was talking about . . . Sounds like you’re still in a daze after your vacation. Anything else? All right then, let’s get ready to open the store.”
As a parting shot, Tajima gave me a cold, dense glare.
Ordinarily I would have wound up listlessly standing by the sales counter, where, after making some sort of error, I’d take a drubbing from Tajima. But this time I found that by the middle of the morning my spirits had picked up. How could such a disgusting creep be a ME? Were there such people among US? As I brooded over such questions I began to understand why the day before Hitoshi had expressed his opposition to greatly increasing the number of inhabitants of Our Mountain. Perhaps he had already had unpleasant encounters with such undesirables. If that were the case, it might behoove me to observe Tajima more closely. After all, hadn’t Minami-san already given me some sort of clue that Tajima was a ME? If so, that
meant that there was something about him that I had not known.
Having firmly made up my mind, I went to Tajima and invited him to have lunch with me. A wry smile floated across his face: “Oh, what will it be? McDonald’s?”
I asked him to grab seats for us while I lined up in front of the counter. Tajima had ordered a meal containing a Big Mac, side salad, and oolong tea. Partly out of stubbornness, I ordered something different, something unusual for me: a meal with a Filet-O-Fish, french fries, and coffee.
“Aren’t you trying a bit too hard?” asked Tajima, getting in the first punch, as he watched me carry over our trays.
I pretended not to have heard him and immediately jumped to the nitty-gritty. “We’re both MEs,” I said after politely addressing him as our section chief.
“Yeah? Then why do you need to say so?” Tajima shot back.
“Oh, so you were already aware . . . ?”
“You really have lost it, haven’t you, you good-for-nothing? It’s not something one needs to be aware of.”
“But I’m glad I now know. To tell you the truth, I’d put up a wall between us, as I thought I couldn’t understand you. But now that I realize that we’re one and the same person, doesn’t that mean that the barrier’s gone?”
“You’re such an ignoramus. You may think the wall is down, but there’s no way that would happen, as you’ll know soon enough, when your fundamental antipathy toward me emerges. That’s the bottom line. Your notion that you can now feel at ease because we are the same person is beyond naive.”
“But isn’t that just a problem of your personality? I’m now open to accepting all of US. It’s not about being best of friends or being members of the same family. It’s basic. Your cynical attitude makes you unwilling to take the first step, and so you remain negative.”
As he stared at me, Tajima shoved down the last bite of his Big Mac with his thumb, washed it down with his tea, and licked the corners of his mouth. He seemed not to be consuming a meal; it felt like watching someone feed paper into a shredder.
“I don’t care whether you believe me or not, but I had that very experience some time ago. It was when you were still working at Yoshinoya. I saw you there and instantly knew . . . and that’s why I paid attention to you. It was after that that things turned very bad at home. It was hell. Fortunately, we parted ways before the worst could happen, but I learned my lesson: that I was my own person and that I mustn’t trust anyone.”
“Is that why you’re so hard on me?”
“No, I merely want to use my position as your superior to control you and keep you from becoming petty. I don’t care about myself anymore. I’m telling you this for your own good: while you are still able to turn back, you can forget about it all. Forgetting is, after all, your forte. That’s why I now say that you’re trying too hard.”
Tajima licked his lips as he spoke, then pointed to my tray. I had eaten only a few fries and left the Filet-O-Fish and the coffee untouched. I had no appetite, and I would never be a shredder.
“I’m one with you, Tajima-san, so I can understand you. You say you don’t care about yourself, but you’re nonetheless amour propre incarnate, aren’t you? You value your wounded pride above all and won’t allow yourself to get close to anyone. You’ve never openheartedly accepted anyone. So what are you even saying?”
“Such a child you are! The only ones drawn into your circle are the ones you’re already willing to put up with, as you lick each other’s wounds and reassure each other that you’re different from the rest of society. Is there anything about you that’s real? What a wretched lot you are! I’ve seen for myself just how repulsive your kind can be, and I’ve gone a long way to distance myself from you. So cut those infantile ties. If you indulge yourself in that kind of low and vulgar euphoria, you’ll be totally helpless when the crash comes. I’m giving you this warning just once—we won’t be having this conversation again.”
“I understand. I’ll faithfully follow your advice and endeavor to exclude at the very least you, my immediate supervisor, from the trust I might be inclined to confer upon US. I apologize for taking up your time.”
Without waiting to hear another word, I picked up my tray and hurried out of the McDonald’s.
* * *
Thereafter I began to meet one ME after another. Over a period of eight days I had run into fourteen, all in the guise of customers. Far from greeting them, when I glimpsed these same MEs whom I had so yearned for, I beat a retreat to the restroom. Thanks to Tajima, I was deathly afraid of encountering a bad ME. Tajima was no doubt watching and gloating. He would then assist the customer himself with an air that was both nonchalant and ostentatious. At the same time, the customer, aware that the clerk in front of him knew him for what he was, would be visibly shaken. And for that very reason I renounced having anything to do with MEs who came to the store.
The full staff was on duty throughout Golden Week, and as I had taken the first day off, a Saturday, I was ordered to come in on the following Monday, normally my day off, with the result that I ended up working fifteen days in a row. I thought of complaining to someone that this would mean that my so-called paid leave had gone down the drain, but then decided to seal my lips, fearing that confiding my true feelings would only result in being branded as a Hiyama-esque sort of Yasokichi. Indeed, when I spoke to Minami-san, he looked standoffish, muttered a few perfunctory words, and cut the conversation short, perhaps afraid of being complicit in my actions.
Having lost all zeal I had for work, I aggressively pushed for further vacation. This time the occasion was the fourth Sunday of May. I had completely forgotten about the card that I had returned quite on a whim, saying that I would attend my high-school class reunion. When I finally remembered it, I had the clear premonition that I would encounter other MEs there. And since I had given up on meeting them at work, it wouldn’t do to let this opportunity slip by.
My expectations were more than fulfilled, for of the thirteen attendees, eight of the males were MEs. And yet as we observed one another, there were only three, including myself, who immediately understood, falling into the identical mood.
This I could tell as soon as I saw them. We spontaneously approached each other, at first with smirks on our faces.
“Well, of all the places . . .”
“Come on. Admit it. You knew it could happen and were hoping it would, but . . .”
“Still, I never thought that Sakota and Daiki would be . . .”
“You’re in no position to say anything, Yōji.”
“How many have you met?”
“So far, five.”
“I’ve stopped counting. The number is endless.”
“But you know, it’s all quite interesting. At a ten-year reunion one would expect to see a lot of guys with bulging bellies and thinning hair, but bumping into all these MEs is a rarity, is it not?”
“Rare? We’re in the majority.”
“That’s true.”
“I’ve heard,” I remarked, “that these reunions have turned into matchmaking sessions.”
“Yeah,” Sakota nodded. “That’s what they are all right. Group matchmaking.”
“But we all know each other. I wonder just how well this will go,” remarked Yōji skeptically.
“It seems to work. Last year’s reunion resulted into two marriages,” said Sakota.
“No way! Who?” I asked.
“Gorō and Niimi, Yanagawa and Makino.”
“What? Those four? Really?”
I could vaguely remember the faces, yet the image was of kids so plain as to be downright tacky. I probably hadn’t spoken to any of them during our entire time in school. Yōji had no doubt been the same. And Sakota perhaps had minimal dealings with Gorō.
“I heard from Gorō that the trick is to go with the intent of spouse-hunting, but keep a list of deal-breakers before running the gamut of like-minded women. Eventually, just pick the one who is least problematic.”
“So tha
t’s the strategy, is it?” said Yōji.
“They seemed quite normal, but they’re actually rather weird, a totally different species from us. They simply don’t ME-ize. As Gorō puts it, they’re content to go through life without ever experiencing romance. For them it’s simply a matter of arriving at the stage when it’s time to form a family.”
“How insipid!” said Yōji.
“Dismal!” I agreed.
“And then they go about producing children in the same businesslike way.”
Yōji and I chuckled derisively, but Sakota then said: “Yes, but those two, Gorō and Yanagawa, at least have someone, and that puts them ahead of us.” The three of us now lapsed into silence.
That’s perfectly all right, because we have US. We don’t need marital partners. Our mutual understanding far exceeds any that we might have with a girlfriend or wife. As long as there’s no female ME, it’s surely meaningless for us to talk about anything like marriage. I wanted to say all of this but thought that it might be a conversation stopper, so I kept my mouth shut. Perhaps Sakota and Yōji were thinking the same thing.
“Are you still into photography?” asked Yōji, changing the subject. He too had been in the photo club.
“No,” I answered simply, “I gave that up.” It seemed pointless to ask him the same, as he had never produced anything beyond the lackluster, but out of kindness and consideration I reciprocated nonetheless.
“Yes,” he replied, “I’m still at it. It’s part of my job.”
“No kidding,” I managed to say as my spirits sank.
“My main job is as a tour guide, but my talent is being able to provide our clients with professional-quality photos.”
“What’s the name of your agency?” Sakota asked.
Yōji’s face suddenly wilted, as he stammered weakly: “I’m, uh, freelance.”
“Freelance? Can you make a living doing that? The working conditions must be terrible.”
“That’s what I mean when I say that I wear two hats,” he said as his face reddened. “And that’s how I get by.”
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